Widow to Wolf
by Hexes and Hijinks
Summary: Zoe wasn't sent to New Orleans to deal with her "genetic affliction".


**Disclaimer:** Twilight and American Horror Story don't belong to me.

* * *

 **Widow to Wolf**

 **Chapter 1**

At 16 years old, Zoe Benson learned that she was a witch.

Or, had a "genetic affliction", as her mother had called it.

It may have been a bit preferable to know this little tidbit _before_ she killed her boyfriend with her vagina, but that was a bit beside the point. He was dead and it was apparently because of her and it was too late too late _too late—_

She resented her mother, just a bit.

Anyway, what _was_ the point was that now her mother was sending her away.

"What?"

Zoe had closed the laptop she had been scrolling through when her mother entered her bedroom. She had been Google searching all types of things on _"The Salem Witch Trials", "Magic",_ and " _Charmed" (_ and okay, Zoe knew that it was just a show, but she hadn't believed that _any_ of this shit with potions and spells had been real until just a couple of weeks ago so—), confused and starved for information while not exactly on speaking terms with her mom. Of course, she hadn't first believed it when her mother first broke the news to her just a few days after Charlie's dead body had been removed from their house—and _"Oh my god, mom. Do you think this is some kind of_ _ **joke**_ _?"—_ but in the incoming days with increasing incidences of levitating objects and random teleportation acts (and _that_ one had almost given her a heart attack) Zoe guessed that she was a bit more inclined to believe the woman.

With each incident, her mother became more frazzled, always on the computer, always on the phone, looking more and more devastated when the "genetic affliction" didn't just take care of itself and go away.

And, well, while Zoe hadn't been taking it particularly well either (she still broke out into sporadic fits of crying whenever memories of Charlie's bloodied face invaded her mind, her nerves were completely on edge, never knowing when she'd be her bedroom, asleep, one minute then suddenly reappearing in the backyard the next, and all her research into the Salem Witch Trials hadn't been helping— _What would happen if someone found out?_ Judging from her mother's stress, nothing good…), she certainly hoped that she didn't _look_ like her mother, who was leaning against the door frame, shoulders sagging from exhaustion. There were bags under her eyes from a lack of sleep, her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in a while, and her skin was sickly pale.

And the look of complete betrayal that must have been on Zoe's face seemed to be upsetting her further.

" _What_? _"_ Zoe repeated. She looked into the woman's eyes, searching for some type of joke the same way she had when she was told that she was witch. Again, she found none. "You're sending me _away_?" She blinked at her mother in disbelief, rising to a sitting position on her bed.

Her mother sighed, running a hand through her hair, bringing her hand to a pause on her forehead where she let her head rest in her palm. "I've been making a lot of calls and I've been doing a lot of research." She looked up then, and her eyes were becoming wet, but she still attempted to smile as soothingly as possible at her daughter. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, Zoe." She took a few steps into the room, face almost brightening hopefully the more she talked. "I managed to get in contact with your great grandmother. Zoe… your… your great grandmother, she—she's like you, and she's willing to take you in and— "

Honestly, her brain had kind of halted at the revelation that her mom wanted to send her away, and everything her mother had try to say afterwards was pouring and being processed in her shocked mind rather sluggishly. But what her mother had just said had managed to piece together everything for Zoe with shocking clarity.

"I don't know her!" Zoe shouted, a sudden surge of panic rushing through her and moving her to her feet.

Her mother looked shocked at her sudden outburst, flinching away, and _what?_ Had she not expected any objection? "Zoe— "

"In fact, this is the first I'm hearing of her and you're saying you want me to _live_ with her?" Panic was steadily being replaced by a growing anger.

"Zoe, baby— "

"You want me to go and live with a stranger, mom?" That just wasn't fair! It was unthinka—

"I'm trying to do what's best!" her mother snapped, voice cutting in before Zoe could say another word.

At her raised voice, Zoe quieted down, watching as her mother's face became red and she stared her daughter down pleadingly.

"You… it's…" her mother seemed to be searching the air for the words to say. She finally settled on: "It's too dangerous for you to stay here."

Zoe recoiled at the words, and seeing this, her mother immediately backpedaled, a look of regret flashing in her eyes. She already saw where her daughter's train of thought was going.

"No, baby, that's not—" She took a few steps forward.

Zoe stumbled backwards a bit, feeling hurt, confused, _guilty—_

They both jumped when the lamp on her nightstand suddenly shattered.

A tense followed between the two; Zoe refusing to look at her mom, her mom refusing to look away from her.

When it became clear that Zoe wasn't going to say anything - _do_ anything- her mother began again, slowly. Cautiously.

"Zoe… your father and I… we aren't afraid of you." Zoe glanced up doubtfully at this, but she continued on. "But it's obvious that you have no idea what you're doing. And, honey, we don't either."

"But your great grandma does. She's been through all of this and she can _help_ you. You won't have to completely uproot yourself from normality and you won't have to be completely separated from family." For some reason, Zoe got the feeling that her mother was trying to convince herself of something just then, as her eye roamed away from Zoe for just a split second. "We'll know where you are and how you're doing. And once everything's under control, you and everything else will be able to return to normal." Her voice had risen, becoming eager, if just a tad bit desperate. "Isn't that good? Isn't that what you want?" She walked towards Zoe once more, a wavering, hopeful smile on her face, eyes wide and begging her daughter to understand _why she was getting rid of her._ "I'm just trying to do what's best, baby."

Zoe barely noticed as she took a few shaky steps backward until her knees touched her bed and she sat down, suddenly feeling breathless. "Doing what's best for me or what's best for you?" she muttered, just loud enough for her mother to hear as her arms came up to wrap herself in a hug, doing all she could to keep herself together. This was happening. This was all really happening.

Her mother paused, expression slackening for a moment as if she'd just been slapped, and Zoe almost, _almost_ regretted saying the words, but then her back suddenly straightened out, as if she were steeling her resolve. "You're leaving in a week. Have everything you want packed and ready to take with you," she said simply. Her eyes were red, but they were no longer wet and it looked like she was clenching her jaw. She certainly wasn't hearing any more of what Zoe had to say.

Her mother turned on her heel abruptly and left the room, leaving Zoe in her state of _What the hell is happening?_ that she'd been in near constantly for the past two weeks.

* * *

On the day that she was scheduled to leave, Zoe stepped out of her room with her bags trailing behind her, and her mother came to a pause in front of her, a confused frown on her face.

"Why are you dressed like you're going to a funeral?"

And there were a lot of things about the question, the situation, that kind of wanted to make her laugh and kind of wanted to make her cry, but she just gave a slight shrug and made her way to the car.

In the car rid, Zoe learned a few things. In her mother's exact words, Zoe's great grandma was: "A bit off-putting… and a bit odd. And, oh, Zoe, don't look at me like that. I remember that her heart had always been in the right place. She can just be a bit… out there... to young eyes. But isn't that how all grandparents are?" Here, her mother smiled at her unconvincingly from the front seat while they were on their way to the airport. It was how she'd been smiling at her ever since Zoe was told that she was being kicked out, like the corners of her mouth were being halfheartedly tugged up in some poor expression of happiness.

Her mother was coming with her to Forks and was staying for a few days, because, well, _yeah she was dropping her daughter off in some unknown place with a stranger. Might as well scout area,_ Zoe thought bitterly. Her father had work. He always had work. So he was dropping the two of them at the airport, where her mother would accompany her on a plane from Jacksonville, Florida to Seattle, Washington, then from Seattle to Port Angeles, and finally from Port Angles to Forks.

Forks, Washington.

That was where her great-grandmother lived.

Across the country and last seen at a family function since, well, never.

This line of thought and the way her mother spoke of the enigmatic woman so distantly pushed her forward until she was leaning against the passenger side where her mother sat. "Hey, mom, when was the last time you've even _seen_ lady? Spoken to her?" She thought these were rather valid questions to ask, certainly deserving of answers, especially when her mother failed to respond immediately. "How do you even know that she can help me?"

"Because who else _can,_ Zoe?" Her mother twisted the ring on her finger and looked everywhere but at her.

Zoe paused, momentarily startled, a sinking feeling in her gut. She turned her mother's words over in her head. Was she implying that there _wasn't_ anyone else who could help her? That there was no one else like her?

Zoe hadn't really sat and pondered the thought before, but she now realized that she certainly _hoped_ that it wasn't just her and her great grandmother out there. The thought alone suddenly struck her as terrifying.

But when she opened her mouth to question her mother about it, the woman spoke up.

"My siblings and I used to see her a lot when we were younger," her mother sighed. She'd visit us, we'd visit her and… We'd have fun."

"Yeah, well... what happened?" Zoe settled back, filing through her memories, and she couldn't even remember so much as an offhand remark about the woman. She hadn't even known that she had a great grandmother that was still living until a few weeks ago. She didn't know who to feel more bitter towards for this. Her mother or her great grandmother?

Her mother exhaled deeply through her nostrils, and she looked a bit lost herself. "She just moved and dropped all contact with everybody one day. Without a word to anyone."

Zoe raised her eyebrows at that, doubtful. Except at this point, Zoe was becoming more accustomed to knowing that her mother was hiding things from her. Sadly. With narrowed eyes, she replied, "And what? You were miraculously able to find the elusive great grandmother and get in touch with her when you needed her the most? Suspiciously convenient, mom."

"Suspiciously convenient, indeed," her mother muttered, and then she was turning around in her seat to face Zoe, hand coming up to tug on a strand of hair and eyebrows raised in earnest.

"But, oh, Zoe. Don't call her that. It's kind of rude, don't you think?"

"What?" Zoe blinked in confusion, reeling from the sudden change in conversation. Her mind eventually caught up. "Great grandma? Then what should I call her? She's my great grandma, isn't she?"

There was a long pause, and when Zoe glanced up at her mother, she noticed an odd look in her eye. Her next words came out on a slightly nostalgic note:

"Grandma Estelle."

* * *

Her mother got a taxi that would take them the hour drive from Port Angeles to Forks. And the ride had been fine, for the most part, until—

 _Holy shit,_ everything was gray and green, gray and green, _grayandgreen—_

For a girl whose wardrobe consisted mostly of black and white, even Zoe thought that Forks could use a little more… _variety._

Still, the blurring, unchanging scenery around her managed to put her in some kind of trance, eyes staring vacantly out the window, and she was pretty sure she was on the edge of falling asleep when her eyes latched onto movement near the trees.

Drowsiness fell away as she just barely managed to catch a glimpse of a pack of boys (men? She couldn't really tell, but she could see that they were all muscled, russet skinned, and dark haired) dashing down the side of the road before disappearing into the trees.

Zoe blinked, curiosity forcing her to turn around in her seat to look out the back window as the taxi continued down the road. She hardly noticed the strain that she was putting into the movement, completely absorbed in trying to catch a better look, but she wasn't sure of what—the boys were already gone and the trees had quickly become replaced by rows of houses that signified a neighborhood.

"Oh, Zoe… we're here."

The sound of her mother's voice pulled her away from the window, and she turned back around to see her mother shooting worried glance back and forth between a small notebook opened to a page where an address was scribbled on it and a house to the right of them.

As the taxi pulled to a stop, Zoe's eyes followed her mother's gaze out the window, feeling her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline.

 _Oh, indeed._

The house laid at the end of the block and stood out like a sore thumb. While it had the same uniform, blocked structure of the all the houses nearby, it also sported a pointy, lopsided roof, worn paint, and an assortment of plants and thorns spanning from her yard to her porch. However, what _really_ caught Zoe's attention was the wrought iron gate surrounding the house, tall and looming, warding off any intruders—and visitors.

Of course, the _witch_ would live in the most inconspicuous thing there.

Zoe couldn't help the _Are you kidding me?_ look she shot towards her mother who… was giving her the same look back, whether she realized it or not.

Because… _Are you kidding me?_ Zoe thought as she spotted movement from the porch, the front door swinging open. She blinked hard. _You're kidding me,_ she thought desperately.

Zoe felt her phone buzz from her back pocket, signifying an incoming call, but she ignored it in favor of inspecting the woman, unwilling to look away from the image that stood before her.

An aged, old ( _Ancient,_ Zoe's mind supplied helpfully) woman stepped out in a black, shimmering gown that engulfed her frame. Long, silvery hair trailing behind her, untamed and in need of a brush, and as Zoe continued to eye it, she could make out little black beads sorted through strands here and there.

On each frail wrist, there were a multitude of bangles and makeshift bracelets, and on each ear, there were long, dangling earrings, shimmer and shaking like mini chandeliers. Her movements were a bit jerky as she stepped down the stairs of the porch, quick and a bit unfocused, her limbs moving her in one direction but looking as though they wanted to jerk her off in another at any moment's notice. She looked like she wanted to be here and there and… _everywhere._

On her face sat large, thick glasses that magnified her eyes to a startling degree, and as the woman got closer and closer, Zoe felt herself shrinking away from the bulging eyes that were focused solely and directly on her.

The real tragedy of the moment was that Zoe got the impression that if she had grown up knowing about this woman, or had just seen her in passing, remaining distant, she probably would have thought that this old woman was _cool._ But under the circumstances having to live with her, Zoe only felt an overwhelming wariness.

Feeling the sudden urge to groan as the weight of what her entire life had come to suddenly dawned on her, Zoe leaned her head back against the seat and away from the window. The sound that came from her was probably being held in since Charlie died. It was long, tired, and downright pitiful.

Then her own groans were drowned out by the sound multiple howls coming from the distance.

Zoe felt her stomach drop and her heart felt like it was trying to climb its way up her throat.

It was a cliché, but like all clichés, it was the truth.

Your life could change overnight.

Or in a moment.

* * *

 **So, originally, I was gonna name this story** _ **The Widow and the Wolf.**_ **And then my thoughts strayed to** _ **The Spider and the Wolf**_ **and** **I thought, "Hey, this sounds kind of like some folktale or short story or something!" And I proceeded to google it and find out if it was. Imagine the monstrosity that was waiting for me in the google images in the form of the Wolf Spider! :'D**


End file.
